All further information on schools can be found here:
Open Architecture Network - http://openarchitecturenetwork.org/projects/haiti_reconstruction
Two weeks have passed and today, Friday, we are in the office, sitting at the conference table. Me and seven Haitian engineers, Marc Henri, Nixon, Balan, Stanley, Pierre, Mikanol, and Jeanty. We all crowd around one side of the narrow table. One engineer, sits on my left with his notepad in his lap watching me closely. “Who are you supposed to be?” He finally asks. “Kote Architect la?” Where’s the Architect? He is referring to Natalia, the Construction Manager. “She isn’t here right now” I reply. “Please, sit down.” But he isn’t listening. He’s on his feet heading for the door.
I watch as my first acquaintance closes the door behind him and I continue watching, waiting for the red door to swing open again with him standing there going “se blag!” Just kidding! But he doesn’t. “Forget Pierre.” An engineer on my right says to me. “He’s been here the longest but he’s still a pain in the ass.” The other guys nod in agreement. “I’m Stanley by the way, the guy across from you on the phone is Nixon, the bald one sitting next to him is Balan, and the three guys clustered together there by Pierre’s empty chair are Marc, Mikanol, and Jeanty. I quickly jot down the names in my sketch book. “I hope Pierre didn’t get you upset.” Stanley says while searching for some hint of anger on my face. “No, of course not. But excuse me for one minute.” I say picking up my sketch book. “I need to grab something from my desk.” I walk away balancing precariously on my heels, ankles shaking with nervousness.
At my desk, I write in my sketchbook,
Shit. It’s my first day meeting the Outreach Engineers and I have drama! Ahhh. Okay. Relax. Break the ice. Tell them your name, that you’re an architect and that you’re Haitian. Ask them for their names… It really can’t be that hard.
I look up from my notes and sitting across from me, my co-worker Marc has got his head phones in, typing away, hiding behind his desktop. I grab the field reports and take a deep breath in and out before deciding to go back for Round Two.
“Hey everyone,” I say walking back into the room, closing the door behind me. “My name is Marvine”
“Are you French or are you Haitian?” Pierre has returned.
“
Haitian.” I reply pulling a chair and sitting down beside him.
“You sound French. The way you speak kreyol with an accent. It’s not a Haitian accent.”
“No, I am very much Haitian but I live in the U.S.”
“Are your parents Haitian?”
“Yes.”
“They live in Haiti?”
“No. New York.”
“Not Florida?”
“No. New York.” I repeat, shifting my weight towards Stanley, hoping he’ll get my body language and jump in again.
“Where is Natalia?”
Natalia deliberately went on site and left me in the office to take care of business. Completely, by way of the sink or swim method. Currently, I can’t decide which one I am, sinking, swimming…floating perhaps?
“I’m an architect and I’m working with Natalia on the current construction projects.” I respond.
“An architect...” The lines of folded skin covering Pierre’s forehead even out and Pierre’s breathing is the only sound that can be heard in the room. “I didn’t know.”
“Hey, if you need anything I’m your man.” Stanley pipes in. “But I’ve got to be at the site right now myself.
Enchante Architect,” Stanley pulls his bright green and white motorcycle helmet out from under the table and pulls it on.
“You can call me Marvine.” I say, watching him stand and strap tight his elbow and knee protection gear.
“No problem, Architect.” He responds, smiling. “I’ll see you next week.”
Stanley, goes around the table shaking peoples’ hands and peace signs the ones who are too far out of reach before making his exit.
“These guys, all of them look up to me because I’m the oldest.” Pierre continues after the door clicks closed again. Even Stanley.” I’ll be a supervisor very soon you know. Very soon. What are you laughing about Nixon?”
Nixon puts down his phone mid -text. “ou mem! You’re always talking about being a supervisor.”
“What’s it to you? You’re new! Fresh out of school!”
“So am I” I jump in. “No big deal right?”
“But you’re an Architect. That is highly respected in Haiti.” Nixon replies. “We don’t have architecture schools here. “
“We have one architecture school in Haiti. Nixon is too young to know all of these things.” Pierre rolls his eyes.
I can feel a battle of the generations bubbling and quickly rifle through the paperwork lying on the table in front of me. “Balan?” I ask, pulling out a random field report from the pile.
“Oui. Je suis Balan.” Balan, head as shiny as his black leather shoes, sits up, back straight, fingers tightly crossed in front of him.
“Speak in creole man! Don’t you see she speaks creole?!”
“Pierre mind your own business man”, Nixon says picking his vibrating phone up off the table, “If Balan wants to show off his French skills, let him do it.”
Pierre grunts, crossing his arms across his chest. Marc, Mikanol, and Jeanty smile but don’t jump into the ring.
“Alright guys, it’s actually lunch time now” My own phone alarm starts singing a tune in my pocket. “Balan we’ll continue after lunch.”
“Sa vas.” Balan replies head held high.
We all pack up our notepads, sketchbooks, paper work, and cell phones and exit through the red door. I’m the last one out, so I hold the conference room door open a little longer before closing it for the last time that afternoon.
Work being done on site. School: Elie Dubois
Checking Materials (sand)
Making sure work corresponds to construction drawings.
Problem: We discovered that we were building over a cistern.
Solution: break the cistern/empty its contents or change our drawings
Trying to figure out how far the cistern reaches.
Classroom of School: Le Bon Berger
